How the Mighty Fall
by NinaRoja
Summary: Scar is still alive after Simba assumes his rightful throne. When the former is isolated to a tiny cave at the back of Pride Rock, the new King decides it is finally time to confront the source of all his problems and anxieties, face-to-face, and discovers that his Uncle's manipulation of him is still as potent and volatile as it always has been. One-shot.


**Hello all :)**

**Once again, I greet you with a one-shot, and, as ever, it is my entry for the my lion king dot com forums fanfiction contest. Like always, I highly reccommend signing up to any and all TLK fans: it's a relatively small community, but it's the most active TLK-board out there. **

**The prompt this time around was "Scar is alive during Simba's Pride", and I did win (albeit only one person remembered to vote this time around so it was a very small victory) **

**Onwards!**

How the Mighty Fall

It took everything Simba had to tear his gaze away from his new-born daughter. He couldn't get over how tiny she was, how minute the whiskers that poked out of her muzzle were, how her little paws already had miniature pads on the bottom… she lay sleeping in Nala's embrace, no doubt exhausted from the excitement that had only just ended. The proud parents had watched as the mandrill Rafiki raised her into the sky, in front of the entire kingdom, as equally delighted to display the product of their love to the Pride Lands as they were secretly terrified that the aging shaman would drop her.

And yet, Simba was not happy. He knew that he should have been, laying quietly with his little family in a rare moment of isolation and peace, but the thought of what he had to do next was troubling him greatly. Sighing, knowing that there was no way he could get out of it, he stood up.

"I'll be back later," he muttered.

Nala watched him as he got up and left, quizzically, but didn't speak. She had no idea where he was off to, but she knew better than to ask: Simba's mood often took unexpected dives like this. Trying not to worry about it too much, she turned her attention back to her cub.

Simba walked briskly, ignoring the multiple congratulations that were shot his way as he descended the stone steps and made his way down the side of Pride Rock. He turned his thoughts over and over in his head as to how he would handle the situation he was about to put himself in. He was equally stressed about it as he was angry that he even had to be doing it. His well-wishers, slightly miffed to have been ignored, could do nothing but continue on their way. Simba had been a godsend to them, yet now they were unsure as to whether their new King was up to the job. During his public appearances he always seemed so… distant, like something was always on his mind, diverting his attention.

"Good morning, Sire!" came a shrill call, causing Simba to cringe slightly. He was not in the mood for this.

Zazu came soaring down in front of him, his chest puffed, positively beaming.

"My, isn't this just _marvellous?" _ He cried, Simba shutting his eyes even tighter, "the entire Kingdom, united by such royal-"

"Not now, Zazu," Simba groaned, not even trying to disguise his annoyance, "I've got things to do."

Zazu looked indignant, and was confused. Presentation of an heir was a huge deal in a King's life. Why on Earth was Simba not brimming over with joy like everyone else?

"But, sire, we had such an excellent turn-out! And to see so many after so much hard-ship is almost un-"

"I'm going to see my Uncle," the lion interrupted.

The hornbill shut-up almost immediately, quite taken aback. He was going _where? _

"Your… your what?" Zazu stammered, unsure if he had actually heard correctly.

"My Uncle," Simba repeated, "to deliver the news. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

"But... you haven't seen him since-"

"I'm well aware of that, Zazu, thanks."

He set off walking again, intent on reaching his goal as quickly as possible. He had to supress an audible sigh as his major-domo began flying alongside him, still talking.

"Shall I go with you?" he asked, "I think it would be for the best, seeing as-"

"No, I'm going alone. I have to go alone."

"… seeing as I went when your father-"

"What ABOUT my father?" Simba snapped, suddenly, unable to control his temper any more.

Zazu was so shocked he had flapped backwards in the air, withering under Simba's now deeply-etched glare.

"Forgive me," he mumbled, hovering just in front of him, "I… I'll come back later."

Simba watched him fly away, anything to put off his visit, feeling slightly guilty for what he had just done. He couldn't help it though, the mention of his father while he was on his way to visit his Uncle had just caused him to snap from the anxiety and uncontrollable rage he still felt. He would apologise to Zazu later. For now, he still had his grim task to perform.

The short trip didn't take long enough, in Simba's opinion. It was less than a couple of minutes before he found himself standing in front of the den Scar now called home, peering into its dark entrance. He had never been here before, and he had not seen or talked to the ex-king since the night he had overthrown him. He had absolutely no desire to, and had deemed this tiny cave at the back-side of Pride Rock the only place suitable for a lion of Scar's calibre.

The night of Simba's return, Scar had been found where he had fallen, mauled almost to death by hyenas and severely burned by the flames that had engulfed Pride Rock (the fire being perhaps the only reason that they had retreated before they could eat him alive completely). Simba, having been informed of this by Zazu and some of the other lionesses, had refused to go and look at him, instead banishing the now-crippled lion to a small crevice at the rear of Pride Rock that he remembered from his childhood. Quite some time had passed since then, and quite a lot had happened that Simba's "prisoner" needed to be informed of. That, and Simba had decided now was the time to finally confront him. After all, he was still the source of much trauma that continued to plague him. Vivid nightmares occurred almost nightly, and any recollection or mention of him still sent the King into an angered frenzy. He couldn't go on like this.

Simba stood in front of the den, willing his legs to move and carry him inside, but they stayed put. He was feeling particularly anxious right now, he could feel his heart beating hard against his rib cage, and his mouth was dry. He knew the lion he would find within posed no physical threat to him, but still he was… scared. Almost as if Scar's mere existence were enough to cause him panic. He took a deep breath, and purposefully strode forwards, entering into the dark cave.

The stench was the first thing that hit him, and it almost caused him to reel backwards. It was that of rotting flesh and... fecal matter. He peered through the darkness, before spotting the hunched silhouette of his uncle against the back wall. He stood in silence for a moment, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. His mouth, still dry, struggled to form words.

"Scar," he finally said, trying to sound commanding, but ultimately failing.

The figure in the corner turned its head towards him, and it was so shocking that Simba couldn't supress his gasp in time. Scar's face was completely disfigured. His fur was gone: what was left was shiny pink skin, several chunks of which were missing. The once-green orbs that would have penetrated the darkness that separated them were either gouged out or permanently seared shut. Despite this, his namesake gash was still plainly visible across where his left eye would have once been. As for the rest of his body, it too was devoid of fur in many places, instead replaced by more burns from the flames. Cuts, scratches and wounds of various states of repair were littered all over him, and his sleek black mane, the only sleek thing about him, was no more. He looked completely pathetic, not even a shadow of his former self. A smear would have been a more appropriate term. The former dictator, the most infamous and at one time feared lion in all the Pride Lands, was now blind, deaf in one ear, unable to stand up without severe pain and living surrounded by his own waste. Simba knew he had been in a bad way, but he had not expected anything like this. And yet, he didn't feel any sympathy for him.

"Simba," Scar finally said, "my, my… what a pleasure it is to finally be in your majestic presence."

His voice, deep and scratchy sounding, was dripping with sarcasm. Simba just continued to stare at him, not saying anything.

"Allow me to take this opportunity to thank you for such luxurious living quarters. Really… I couldn't have asked for better," he muttered.

"Drop the victim act, Scar," Simba growled, "you know as well as anyone that you deserve this."

"Instead of death? How noble you are, Simba. Mufasa would be so _proud_ of you."

Simba felt the rage boiling inside of him flare once more.

"Don't you dare mention him!" he seethed, "how dare you speak of him like that? How dare you speak of him at all? After everything you've done?"

Simba was even more incensed to hear his uncle quietly laughing to himself, raspingly. Although he wouldn't have been able to see it, he was baring his teeth, and his claws were out, signs of the anger swirling around inside of him.

"Like father, like son," he said, quietly, "he could never control his emotions, either."

"Stop it, Scar."

"Oh, how angry he was when I didn't attend his precious son's presentation," the older lion continued, ignoring him, "I doubt I ever saw him angrier…"

A deep growl rumbled in Simba's throat. He didn't like where this was going at all.

"And then – oh! – I remember it so well. The night that same son disobeyed him, went to the Elephant Graveyard, of all places… he poured his heart out to me after it happened: "_oh, Scar. Am I a good father? Why would he disobey me, Scar? I nearly lost him tonight, Scar… Scar, whatever shall I do?""_

"I'm warning you," Simba breathed, trembling with so much anger he could barely speak, "don't say another word."

"Of course, it only made killing him all the more satisfying – seeing the fear in his eyes, watching him fall-"

He could not finish: with a mighty roar that echoed around the walls of the tiny den, Simba leapt on him, striking him multiple times with both sets of claws, raking them across his exposed skin.

"DAMN YOU!" Simba bellowed, unable to stop, "DAMN YOU TO HELL!"

Anger still pulsing through him, he jumped off the other lion, who did not fight back. He began angrily swatting at the ground, sending several small, decaying skeletons from various small animals clattering away across the filthy floor. He could not believe it. How on earth had Scar, the crippled, pathetic scrap of bones lying on the floor amongst his own dung, managed to get the upper hand, yet again? How was he still so manipulative? How? Simba could not understand it.

Simba was now furiously pacing back and forth within the tiny cave, taking great, ragged breaths as he did so. Scar, bleeding afresh, continued speaking.

"Nicely done, Simba. Daddy would be so happy to know that you're upholding the circle of life so well. What was it he said? "Respect all the creatures"?"

"What makes you think you can still manipulate me, Scar?" Simba said, the anger still present in his voice, "I'm not a cub anymore. You can't just say anything you want and expect me to just take it in."

"You're right, you aren't a cub anymore," Scar mused, "and if I had only had the sense to kill you myself when you were, and I had the chance, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now, would we? I wouldn't be lying here in my own filth, waiting for the moment in each wretched day that I'm granted some miserable scraps of food, and you wouldn't be at Pride Rock sprawled out, eating the best meat, making love to every lioness, all while I'm expected to be grateful to you for the fact that I'm not dead."

"You got what you deserved!" Simba exploded, "don't even pretend that you don't know that!"

Simba could tell by the furrow in Scar's raw face that he was glaring up at him, and his eyes, had they not been so damaged, would have been boring into him, like they had always done.

There was a sustained silence between them. It could only have been less than a minute, but each second dragged by for what felt like an hour. Simba's pacing was slowly becoming less agitated, but he still felt a terrible rage within. It wouldn't go away, and when the other lion finally broke the silence it only began to stir up again.

"Well, Simba," Scar said, his voice full of malice once more," I doubt you came here just to talk to your dear old Uncle. To what do I owe the honour?"

Simba, now sitting near one of the cave walls, continued to glare at him, but finally spoke the first of the news he had come to break.

"Nala gave birth three days ago," he said, quietly, yet still purposefully, "I have an heir. Your hold on the Pride Lands is finished for good."

Scar looked up, with what could only be a mock grin spread across his face.

"Well, well… you have been busy, Simba," he crooned, "three moons into the job and you have a child already…You have my utmost _congratulations_."

"Save me your scorn, Scar," Simba spat back at him, "it's not as if your opinion matters to me anyway."

"A word of advice, then," the dark lion continued, unfaltered, "cubs are easy to lose, I'd be very careful, if I were you. Why, just ask Sarabi-"

"Well for a start you won't be allowed anywhere near her," Simba snapped, the mention of his mother making his hackles rise even further, "I'll never let anyone do to her what you did to me."

Scar's grin only widened at this.

"Oh… I see_," _he lilted, "_a girl_."

"And your point would be?"

"Come, come now, Simba, I thought you were smarter than that. A female will never be fit to rule."

"What's it to you?" Simba muttered, "With any luck you'll be food for vultures by the time Kiara becomes Queen."

"_If _she becomes Queen. Who knows? You and Nala may decide to have more cubs… you may have a son and see sense. Surely even you have enough self-respect for that? "

Simba did not reply. He dug his claws into the earth below his feet, in an attempt to dissipate some of the tension he was feeling. What did Scar care of any cub of his?

"How is she? Nala?" Scar asked, a bit too intently for Simba's comfort.

"None of your concern," he retorted, darkly.

"She always was my favourite," Scar sighed, "though, of course, no one could beat your mother…"

"You're disgusting," Simba whispered, his voice quivering with rage. He was so incensed and angry that he was rooted to the spot, unable to spring on his uncle again and inflict more injuries. Thought what would that gain? Scar was as low as he would get: there was no way Simba could demean him any further. The same could not be said the opposite way around, though.

"I suppose Zira is a fine lioness, too," Scar continued, "strong, determined, at the very least used to be beautiful…"

He looked back up at Simba again, though of course without being able to see him.

"Defiant."

Simba took a deep breath, ready to finally deliver the second piece of news. The sooner he could get out of here, the better.

"Scar-"

"I wasn't lying when I told you to be careful," he said, voice oozing with danger, "not everyone is so happy with this new regime. They have a variety of tactics already planned out."

"Zira is gone, Scar," Simba finally said, as authoritatively as he possibly could, "They all are."

The lion on the floor froze. Simba had a feeling his eyes would have been widening in disbelief, had they been there.

"...what did you just say?"

Simba didn't reply straight away. Before he could say anything, Scar spoke again.

"Did I stutter, Simba? What did you just say?!" 

Scar's voice reached an unprecedented volume, for having such a mangled voice-box. Simba took a slight step back.

"I took your advice early," he continued, "you're right: cubs are easy to lose; so are titles, in fact. I'm not taking any chances, not after everything that's happened. Anyone who still had any loyalty to you was exiled."

Scar's entire body was heaving as he took great, ragged breaths, partially from shock, but mostly from anger. The final few tendrils of his support system had just been vanquished, and by his oh-so-loathed nephew, of all people.

"Where are they now?!" he seethed, "where did you send them?!"

The dark lion began a pathetic attempt to launch an assault on his Simba: unable to stand or walk, he was reduced to dragging himself slowly across the floor.

"WHERE ARE THEY?!" he roared again, attempting a swipe, though of course missing in his blindness. Simba was on the complete opposite side of the den from him.

"The only place for lions who think like you," Simba said, "the Outlands."

Hearing the sound of Simba's voice, Scar whipped around and continued to crawl as fast as his old, destroyed body was able to. His claws left great score marks in the earth as his rage spurred him on.

"Get back, Scar," Simba warned, avoiding his uncle with great ease.

Scar's frenzied "attack" took a lot out of him: he collapsed where he was, wheezing in his weakened state.

"Her cubs..." he rasped, "where are Zira's cubs?"

"She took them with her."

The old lion's head shot up from the ground at these words.

"...what?!"

His yellowed fangs were out now - his only hope of potential heirs were gone too. He couldn't see Simba, but just feeling his presence in the room was making the hatred course through his veins even faster. Since birth he had been the bane of Scar's life, and now, despite all his best efforts, he had won. An everlasting reminder of his brother's superiority was now standing over him, victorious, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"You... _you sent them to die! You SWINE!" _

"If it means stamping out your influence forever then it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make!"

Scar made a last-ditch attempt to attack him, of course with zero effect.

"This is the price to be paid for your evil!"

Simba hated how cold he sounded, but he was speaking the truth. He almost thought he felt a pang of pity, watching as his Uncle blindly dragged himself through the fecal matter that covered the floor, snorting and growling and roaring in his frustration and anger. No, he couldn't sympathise with him. Not after everything that he had done. This was the least of what he deserved... wasn't it?

"I hope you're happy," Scar finally spat, breathing heavily, "I hope seeing me like this is worth it."

"Believe me," Simba muttered, darkly, "it is."

The lion on the floor gave another snort, his head dropping to the floor.

"You've taken everything from me..."

Simba stared for a second, before the hatred inside him errupted anew. He launched himself towards the other lion, putting his face low so that it was mere inches from Scar's.

"You took everything from _me_," Simba whispered, his anger boiling within him to the point he could not muster anything louder, "or did you forget?"

"Don't act like that was the same."

"You're right, it wasn't the same, it was worse!"

Dozens and dozens of painful memories came flooding back to him at that point. He slmost felt he was on the brink of an all-out breakdown, but he fought back the angry tears. He would not give Scar the satisfaction. Not again; not now.

"You killed my father," he continued, enraged, "then you tried to kill me! You ran me out of my home, seperated me from my family, stole my title... you manipulated me, Scar! Don't you dare try to make me the villain! _Don't you dare!" _

Scar didn't reply, seemingly beyond words. Simba stood back up to full height once more. He had no desire to stay here any longer.

"You're pathetic," he whispered, "all this, just because you couldn't handle the fact they chose him over you."

"You poor, naive boy," Scar said, in mock sympathy, "You think my parents chose Mufasa because he was a particularly good choice? Your father was always their favourite! Don't think for one second you're standing there now because he was wise or strong or particularly good, Simba. It was sheer, dumb luck."

"My father was a great lion, Scar," Simba said, his voice trembling once more, "greater than you could ever be. Get over yourself."

He spat the words out like they were venom on his tounge. Scar, frustratingly, merely chuckled to himself once more.

"...if that's what you want to tell yourself, fine. Who am I to stop you? I'm just your lowly prisoner, after all."

The silence returned, and this one felt even longer. Simba would have left then and there had Scar not spoken again, seemingly doing everything he could to maximise his nephew's discomfort and anxiety. Yet again, he posed a question to provoke more amusing reactions in his young rival.

"Why not just kill me?" he asked, out of nowhere, somewhat serenely, as if the two of them were watching the stars in the night skiy together. The younger lion was quite taken aback at this abrupt change of subject. It was something he had briefly thought about, but that had been quite a while ago, and he had pushed the notion out of his mind. "Exiling" the ex-king, as he had once done to him, had seemed much more satisfying. As ever, his uncle spoke before he could form a reply.

"Wouldn't it be therapeutic, though?" Scar continued, "I imagine it would, troubled child that you are... maybe you'd finally be able to let go of it all."

"Let go of what?"

"Oh, my poor boy, it's so painfully obvious! You're carrying such a heavy load around with you, everywhere you go. Why, even I can see it, and I'm blind, for gods' sakes! Just think of it - all that resentment and fear and anxiety... gone."

It was plainly obvious that Scar was taunting him, playing off the weaknesses he knew he had. Still, to recieve confirmation that they were that obvious only set him on edge all the more.

"I ask again - why not?"

"Because," Simba growled, his eyes fixated on the exit he longed to be heading out of, "I think that would be too merciful, after everything you've done."

He paused.

"And still are doing," he muttered, in addition.

It was a simple reply, really, but it was the truth. Killing Scar would put his suffering to an end, and it was a suffering that, in Simba's opinion, he deserved completely.

"Impressive, Simba," came the wicked-sounding reply, "I can see you've put a lot of thought into this... very smart."

He stopped to let this sink in a bit.

"Maybe you and I aren't so different, after all."

Simba's head jerked towards him as if he had just been struck across the face. His amber eyes blazed in fury, as if a real fire had taken them over. He was beyond yelling: instead his voice just quivered, tell-tale signs of the fiery inferno within his mind.

"No, Scar," he fumed, "I'm not like you... I'm not like you at all. Don't you dare think for one second that I am."

With every word his Uncle said, his anger reached new, unprecedented heights. With everything he was saying, it kept mounting, higher and higher, the pressure building, the tension rising. He couldn't bear it.

"Don't even think that you understand me, either. Believe me, you don't. No one does."

Scar smiled at him, clearly insincerely, but it was still enough to make him feel uneasy, almost violated, as if it were piercing straight through him.

"Whatever you say, highness. Just trying to give you some advice."

"What advice could you possibly have to give me?!"

"How many Kings-of-the-Past did your father tell you about that were severely roughed-up in the head?"

A triumphant, icy sneer was beaming out of Scar's scorched face. It took everything the King had not to leap on him again and go against his ruling, once and for all.

"And who's fault is that?" Simba yelled, hating himself for agreeing.

"I'm only saying this for your own good," the older lion replied, as if he was actually being helpful, "I'd rather not be overthrown by a King everyone will remember for having severe, unresolved mental issues."

In a matter of moments, the position of the upper hand had been reversed once more, from master to prisoner. Having given the older lion the opportunity to throw in some last-minute insults, Simba made to leave. His work here was done: he was exhausted.

"Don't expect to hear from me again, Scar," he said, emotionlessly, "I'm done with you."

Scar, hearing this, began to slowly drag himself back to his original position against the back wall.

"Very well, _your majesty_," came the reply, as sarcastic and malicious as ever. He laid himself down, listening to the sound of Simba's retreating pawsteps.

He wasn't letting him go without one final word.

"Oh, and... Simba?" he continued, just as the other lion reached the cave entrance, "_just do me one favour_."

The king paused in the doorway, without turning back or saying tension within him rose anew. A torrent of memories rushed back to him at the sound of those oh-so familiar words: a final reminder of the psychological stranglehold Scar still had on him, and probably always would.

"Look out for that baby-girl of yours for me, won't you?"

A huge, evil grin was plastered all over his mug: his final blow. Simba, seeing this (having turned to look in his shock and disgust), merely growled by way of goodbye, as a shiver ran down his spine. With that, he quickly strode out of the darkness of the den and into the sunlight not looking back. Instead, he focused on putting as much distance between him and the miserable excuse for a den as possible. His mind was full and buzzing with static. As hard as he was trying to not let his Uncle's words get to him, it was an impossible fight. In that respect, Scar had succeeded. For what he now lacked in physical strength, he made up for in sheer manipulative power, able to vanquish his enemies with a few lashes of his tongue.

The young-king's lasting image of him would be his tattered remnants of a body propped up against the back wall of the cave, doubtless thinking dark, twisted thoughts about his precious daughter. It made him sick just to think about it.

They never spoke again.

**This is an extended version of the original contest entry. Not only did I get a few more ideas for it once the competition was over, but the 4000 word limit prevented this story from expanding to it's true potential. Thanks for reading :D**

**~Ninaroja**


End file.
